


Five People Who Made Gregory House Kneel, And One Who Did Not

by vanishing_time



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Revenge Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_time/pseuds/vanishing_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In every sense of the word.<br/>Six drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five People Who Made Gregory House Kneel, And One Who Did Not

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Five People Who Never Screwed Robert Chase, and One Who Did](https://archiveofourown.org/works/109693) by [ishafel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel). 



One

Love as a concept has never been as interesting to him as puzzles or medicine or people’s minds, and he always regarded the crushes as simply chemical reactions in the brain. Then Stacy storms into his life, unexpected and unforeseen, and he feels she’s the one he's been waiting for, even though he hasn’t realized he was expecting anyone. When she touches him, his lungs fill with vigor, his blood surges faster in his veins, and he not once before felt so alive. He can't get enough, can never get enough, and Stacy adores him back, she respects him and admires him and demands respect and admiration for herself, too; they are equals and that is so exquisite in every way. At night she kisses him all over, worships him and gives him everything, and when he takes her she becomes wild and careless, and House feels his soul flying and his muscles tensing, and the sheer vitality is mingling with his love for her, flowing through him, he's floating high in mind hazing rapture, and she's right there with him. They end every night like this, for years, and it’s never enough... But then it’s abruptly, cruelly over, and Stacy takes his leg away from him, takes his health away, and it hurts, it hurts so much the thinks he will be crawling on his knees and elbows for the rest of his life. And while he clearly knows he shouldn't blame her, he loathes his fate, and he loathes her, and it’s slowly poisoning both of them, and still he can't help it, can't make it stop. The last time they make love he feels his life is lost together with his health, and they both know that it's saying farewell, even though neither of them speaks the words; and Stacy cries and House weeps as they kiss each other’s tears away.

 

Two

Cameron is sweating from running on the treadmill when she opens the door, and in a corner of his mind he has to admit that her glistening skin suits her well. "I want you to come back," he says, and he can tell that she laughs at him on the inside. "Why should I? So you could mock me, you could…" "Tell me what you want me to do," he says, not letting her finish her sentence, and he's not really surprised when her face twists into a totally not appropriate half-smirk after a while. They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before she touches her tongue to her upper lip, not unlike a wild cat, stepping backwards. He follows, a moth drawn to the light of a lamp, a serpent enchanted by a snake-charmer, faintly hearing the door close behind him, but he now has ears only for her voice. "Kneel," she commands, a hint of uncertainty behind her mask of sturdiness, and he knows that it's meant to mock him, maybe even to humiliate him, but he decides to play along. Her smell is fresh despite all the sweat as he kneels down and buries his face in her crotch, deeply inhaling her musk through the fabric to distract his brain from the screaming pain in his leg. He starts to pull her pants down, but Cameron's shaky hands tentatively move to the waistband, maybe to stop him in sudden hesitation, and he gets irrationally angry, for what's the purpose of modesty _now;_ and before she could back out, his arms rise to circle around her hips, and his lips part and his tongue slides along her clit between her already glistening labia, invading her without gentleness. He gives her all she needs as his mouth opens wider to suck, her moans even turn him on slightly and he nearly enjoys it, though he never wished to take advantage of someone so innocent. But innocence is always just a mask, he realizes as she cries out and comes almost immediately around his teasing tongue, clutching at his shoulders, standing in the middle of the living room, half-clothed and pathetic; and he wonders for how long she must have been yearning for him to become this undone merely by a few strokes; and he feels sorry for her a little as he holds her hips to keep her from collapsing.

 

Three

He has theories about why Amber comes to him when nobody's there. If she was anyone else, he'd think it’s a last cheap attempt to make him change his mind; but he knows she’s much better than that. It could be loneliness. It could be looking for comfort; giving in to the basic desire between man and woman; searching for an answer; having nothing to lose... He doesn’t care. They don't exchange any words at all, it's unnecessary. Their gazes meet in perfect agreement, and he lets her straddle him in his chair, lets her kiss him, slide her tongue over his, lets her bury her hands in his hair, fumble at his jeans and pull him free, stroke him to full hardness, watching as she hikes up her skirt and swipes her lab coat behind her back, taking him into herself with a slow, hard glide. He pretends he's not in control, not touching her until she grabs his hand and presses it between her legs with a desperate, bitter moan. Then he begins to tease her, caress her, he lets her ride him, use him; he owes this to her relentless ambition. And he can't take his gaze off her, feeling like he’s looking into a mirror, they are so similar beneath the surface, and they study each other’s face, identical blue eyes locking, pupils swallowing the light, their lips parted around panting breaths; he studies her even as she begins to tremble in release, finally closing her eyes, throwing her head back, revealing her pale throat; and he's watching her tear-soaked cheeks glisten in the half neon light of the corridor as her muscles ripple around him; and then he grips her waist, clasping her body to his, thrusting once, twice, thrice inside her before he comes, too, grunting hotly in her shoulder. He wonders whether, in the end, she wanted to be a part of his team at all costs for another reason than ambition… maybe to be near him. It's not until Amber arrives in the restaurant a few weeks later and kisses Wilson on the mouth he realizes that it was her revenge, her lesson all along. _Not everything is about you,_ her gaze says, _people can be happy without you;_ and if she was trying to steal anyone else but Wilson from him, he would almost be proud of her.

 

Four

Destiny tends to send a saviour when one’s falling apart. He is broken, he broke himself, and when he’s in hell, he can do two things: keep going or give up. He finally has the will to piece himself together, and that’s when the help arrives. Lydia’s smile is beautiful, she’s kind, pleasant and unusual, unexpected, like most people in his life. He begins to look at her as somebody who could be his saviour, even though he sometimes wonders which one of them is the bigger escapist. Her hands are elegant and slender on the piano, their fingers faintly brush when they play _a quattro mani;_ she’s pure, loyal to her friend, idealist, and has the will to look at things as if they were clear and simple, with the innocent mindset of a teenager. He’s vulnerable, like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon, transforming from the person he used to be to somebody new, and it’s been a long time since he felt such an unspoken connection, and it makes him dizzy and hopeful; and while he’s aware that it’s probably going to end and it will hurt, he can't help but think he found somebody worth living for. It doesn't matter that she’s married, nothing matters, not even the sickening interestingness of life that their encounter made, but the way her body melts into his as they dance, and later, she in his lap, the pure, unadulterated moment of passion and maybe love, and he’s trembling in the arms of his redeemer, breathing heavily, looking at the stars twinkling on her skin, and his eyes glisten red. And then she leaves, choosing her family, and he really can't blame her for that. He really can't, even as he wants to beg her on his knees to stay; and it’s leaving him raw once again as she tears open his freshly healed wound. Destiny gives you a chance when you are raw, you get the possibility to fill the void with anything you wish, be it happiness or misery; but the only thing he feels, when she softly, sadly tells him it was perfect before closing the door behind herself, is that in the whole world there's no one you can count on.

 

Five

Cuddy is lovely, strong and smart; and even though sometimes he thinks who needs enemies when you have a friend like this, he can't help but gradually develop a crush on her; it makes him smirk and somehow scared, but he doesn't think he’ll try a relationship again soon, even as he suspects the attraction is mutual. And when he realizes he’s fallen for her, it’s too late; and he never thought that desire would ever drive him practically insane. And then she’s there, when he least expects it, but fate can't surprise him anymore. Days are merging into one, hours pass like minutes, and she’s here, as dirty and sweaty and dishevelled as himself, telling him she loves him, and her lips burn his as they stick together; and she’s slowly removing his clothes, then kneels down to kiss his scar, it's so humiliating and meanwhile the sweetest sign of affection. She’s murmuring to him as she’s cleaning his bruises, telling him that she doesn't demand him to change, that he's incredible, and her eyes are sad and beautiful and caring. Their bodies touch, and he thinks he couldn't bear if this was another hallucination, and if they were making love all day and all night without stopping, it would not be nearly enough. She makes him tell her he loves her, and he’s on his knees once again, but he doesn't mind. She’s guiding him, even controlling him, but he doesn't care about his dignity, because love is not about dignity, love is burning and happiness and hurting and flying high, and there is not a single thing he wouldn't do for her. They are lying on the carpet, and Cuddy is engulfing him, her hair is soft and black and smells of cinnamon and jasmine, her scent is radiant, luminous and intoxicating, her mouth is scorching his, and the way her hips are thrusting against his makes him want to claim her, mark her forever. He laps up the small beads of sweat on her soft cheeks, choking out her name, and she smiles and chuckles and gasps quietly in pleasure, hugging him tight, wetly taking his lips in another endless kiss, and she’s adorable and delightful and he almost cannot believe that he deserved this, he can’t believe that he deserves to be happy. And while deep down he suspects this kind of love can’t last for long, he’s hoping for the best anyway, and swears to himself he’s going to do everything to keep her.

 

Minus Six

It’s late night, and his demons are screaming and screeching and he’s covered in cold sweat when Wilson crawls into the bed next to him. It's getting worse, he's falling and fading and darkness is choking his throat, liana and thorns are tearing at his flesh. It's misty, he’s lost, and he can't suppress his moans of agony, even as Wilson whispers stories and tales in his ear, tells him anecdotes of their past, makes him remember the happy times; he keeps his head above the water, hugs him tight, holds him together while monsters shriek and cannons rumble through his friendly voice. And slowly, only after many hours have passed, in the light of the dawn the beasts start to fade, yet Wilson is still crooning melodically, singing tenderly to him in a gentle embrace. The demons go to sleep at last, and only Wilson remains. The sobriety wakes up nonchalantly, and he looks into Wilson's tired, sad, worrying, warm, wonderful eyes, feeling like he’s taking the first breath of life as he gasps; and Wilson’s lips part around words he would like to ask, but he doesn't get the chance; his scent is so nice and comforting, his skin looks so surprisingly silky that House softly kisses him then, out of gratefulness or selfishness, or both, or something else, it doesn't matter, there’s no need to define everything. He vaguely thinks it should be somehow surreal, but it's not, it’s natural and essential and deeply satisfying, yet it still leaves him hungry for more; and after an infinite, delicate, vulnerable moment, Wilson kisses him back; and Wilson's body is melting under his hands, and House tastes perfection and flawless skin; and Wilson’s moans are feverish when he finally lets himself go, revealing his dormant passion for him, his true self. Wilson lets him take him, lets himself be touched and caressed and licked and penetrated, returns his fondling with similar fever, not just because it's his way to give comfort, but out of affection and faithfulness, and House wants to be buried in his love forever. In Wilson’s arms agony or pain or loss don’t matter as they are surging together towards the peak, and it has nothing to do with hormones or lust or revenge or escapism or conditional love; it’s rooting in friendship and mutual understanding and shared need and undeniable longing; and House twines their fingers, forcing his eyes open to watch Wilson come with trembling flesh and a quiet little moan of his name, and he follows him immediately, burying his face in his shoulder, and this is the way it always should have been. In the end, he’s finally, finally found what he needed, even if he was searching for it in the wrong places. He loves Wilson, he’s more certain about it than he’s been about anything else; and he swears he won't let anything take this away from him, ever.

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful [LilyGrace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyGrace) translated this fic to [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3709387). Thank you! <3


End file.
